Three hundred days to the day. Three hundred days since that poor, innocent woman was murdered, and they finally found the killer: a 50-year-old man with mental issues and a drinking problem—your father.

The realization of what he did broke you. You couldn’t eat for days.

The walls of your room seemed to grow narrower every day, making it almost impossible to breathe. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been out in a long time, or maybe because, until a few years ago, a murderer cradled you in that room, telling you he loved you.

But there’s a pang of guilt in your chest, a feeling that’s tormented you for days now.

You find yourself staring at the coffin, flowers all around it. Soft rain hits your skin, sending chills down your spine. The funeral is silent; the only sounds are the rustling of the trees and the rain.

Even if it’s not your fault, even if it was your dad… the victim was still a young boy’s mom.

You look up from the coffin, and your gaze falls on Simon. His eyes are distant, his hands in his pockets. You two never talked much, never had the chance to know each other well.

Then he raises his head slightly, his eyes locking with yours. His gaze is full of hate. Your heart starts beating faster as he narrows his eyes, staring into your soul through his blonde lashes.